


almost sungyeol

by sungyeols



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Psychological Drama, this is so damn long idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 03:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5114297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sungyeols/pseuds/sungyeols
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>lee sungyeol’s name begins and ends with the letter l</p>
            </blockquote>





	almost sungyeol

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by ske48's 世界が泣いてるなら (if the world is crying) ;;; also this is going to be on aff under the same title if you're more comfortable reading there lol

lee sungyeol doesn’t think of it as a coincidence, how his name begins and ends with the letter l. he thinks of many things. l is the twelfth letter of the alphabet. he noticed this little trivia about his name when he was twelve. he takes his coffee twelve minutes after six, which is twelve divided by two. there is more to the list, and sungyeol marvels at that.

 

there are also six other doors (when multiplied by two it’s equal to twelve, _again_ ) to where he stays. his is marked as number one, and so on so forth. the last room is marked as seven. it throws sungyeol off. it ruins the rule of twelves he has created. seven is an odd number, and its not six, twelve, twenty four or any other even number. it destroys the balance and nature of things. it frustrates sungyeol.

 

to describe lee sungyeol is basically describing a piece of art. he is a tall man, with a thin build. his upper body is stronger than his lower, and this results to his long _long_ legs failing him. he always falls down or trips on something. but his face compensates for the loss in coordination. his jawline is defined, the shape of his whole face is that of a model’s. very high fashion, and unique and complex on its own. his eyes, the correct shade of brown are glowing whenever he smiles with his plump lips that probably needs to be insured because its just that amazing.

 

he wakes up from his bed—clean and white and _too white for his liking too pure—_ and rubs his eyes with his long fingers. he gets up and goes to the mahogany door, leaves the room like that and goes to the spacious kitchen. its exactly twelve minutes after six that the last drop of coffee from the machine falls, and he takes a sip to heat up his body. the rich aroma of the coffee fills him up, and he thinks it is always the best thing to start the day with—filling yourself up with the good things in life, like caffeine and the sunlight from the window streaming down like water from a river.

 

exactly after sungyeol finishes his coffee, sunggyu wakes up.

 

kim sunggyu lives inside the room with the second mahogany door. he’s the oldest and so he feels that he is dominant over them. despite his age of twenty seven, he looks young  but because of his poor body, he _always_ takes his medicine of unbelievable amounts that it fills up an entire cabinet. he’s probably the smartest one in the whole lot too, but that is just based on his personal opinion. he’s authoritative but rational and passionate. he’s someone they all look up to, but they don’t really take him seriously most of the time. how can that happen, maybe because its just sunggyu.

 

when he comes out of the room, the first he does is wake himself up fully with water, eat a banana and drink his medicine. the blue pills come first, then the pale white ones come after. the red ones follow suit and many more colored tablets and capsules. sunggyu doesn’t forget—he has to remember every single one in order to survive. he begins the morning with that.

 

he walks into the bathroom and stays in the shower for a long time. its not like he has somewhere to go to, really. his workplace can manage without him. after taking a bath, he changes into clean clothes, more like a loose white v neck shirt and boxers and enters his own room again and grabs a book from one of the shelves he installed there. he doesn’t even need to look at the title, he has already read the book so many times the binding has already become so vulnerable and fragile. _alice in wonderland._

 

he opens the book to the very first page where he has written _something_. just in time, dongwoo opens the door.

 

jang dongwoo came from the third room just on the left since the even numbered rooms are placed on the right. he is the kindest soul to ever exist and is _always_ generous, forgiving and loving. he is the most optimistic and energetic of them all. there’s nothing bad that you can say about him really. his generosity makes him naïve most of the time but it’s okay. he comes and goes just fine and that’s all that really matters. his age is the closest to sunggyu’s so they get along quite well.

 

he always gets up shortly after sunggyu, just on time _always_ —like today too. dongwoo wakes up late so he can eat brunch. he doesn’t like eating very early, but doesn’t like eating late to consider it as lunch already. it’s complicated and weird but it surprisingly works for all of them. he takes his time to go to the kitchen to make his favorite pancakes with bacon and eggs, and douses it off with some orange juice. sometimes he drinks milk, but never coffee. he leaves the caffeine to sungyeol.

 

he spends the rest of the day watching the television. he laughs a bit too much on jokes that are not too funny and flails his limbs around. he runs his fingers through his tousled hair and lays his back on the sofa once more.

 

the sudden cracks of laughter made woohyun stir and squirm under the sheets.

 

nam woohyun is the most pathetic loser ever _(everybody says so—mostly sunggyu)_ and he stays most of the time inside his room, behind the fourth mahogany door. woohyun is easygoing and funny—not all the time though—but he’s _too_ clingy and greasy for everybody’s liking. he’s kind though, and very willing to give the last cookie in the jar even though it meant none for him. he always puts others first before himself and it leads to him forgetting his self all the time. he’s also boastful, always claiming positive traits that most of the time aren’t his to take.

 

he tosses and turns on his bed. the frames are thinner than his arm muscles but it still holds him fine even with all the thrashing around. his blond hair is crumpled from all the sleeping and he doesn’t even make the effort to flatten it out when he sat upright. he immediately washed his face and applied numerous products to protect his skin and his face.

 

he’s not a morning person. he just sleeps through it and wakes up in the afternoon, _always_ around three where in the nice days the sun shines just right, the rays hit the windows in the best angles and it makes it seem like the world is a wonderful place to live on. also it makes his hair look like gold when it has direct contact with the sun. woohyun lives for days like that.

 

he swallows down two sandwiches and grabs his laptop and spectacles from his bag. he places the laptop in the table near the window—his favorite spot—and fires it up. he wears his spectacles as he started to do his work, endless tapping of the keys echoed in the walls. he works as a writer who submits on his own time. it’s a job woohyun enjoys so much.

 

he continues typing until hoya peers in awkwardly from his own door.

 

lee howon—he’s hardly even noticed. no one knew that there is someone inside the fifth room, until just recently when he shyly came out from it. he prefers to be called hoya—like that flower that smells sweet. he also refers to himself in the third person. no one knows why, besides he’s weird and avoids interaction so no one has pretty much gotten close to him to actually know the reason. he’s an introvert—simple, quiet and reserved. he seems mysterious but most often very easy to read.

 

like woohyun, he’s not a morning person and wakes up very late. he loves waking up to see the sun about to kiss the horizon. he knows that in certain places the sun sets in a way that it looks like a semi-circle and the thought makes him smile because the scenery seems really pretty. he steps outside with his mug. he only drinks tea, chamomile or earl grey—it doesn’t matter. after bathing in the pastel colors brought on by the sunset, he goes inside and wears his dancing shoes.

 

he turns on the player and loud music suddenly bursted out. hoya moves to the beat and the fine lines in his body are more accentuated since he’s only wearing a wifebeater shirt and sweatpants. his thick eyebrows furrow when he makes a mistake but retries again.

 

the loud hiphop music annoys sungjong.

 

the sixth room is his—lee sungjong. he’s the youngest out of all of them, with a gap of four years between him and sunggyu. he’s someone with an unbelievably strong personality. he’s rude,  deceitful, bossy and cusses all the time. but the most annoying thing is that he has the face and body of an angel. _deceitful_ is so true on so many levels. he has this habit of _always_ asking for favors that will make you do nothing but just do as he says but never expect anything in return because its lee sungjong—he doesn’t pay back.

 

he hates the sunlight as much as hoya hates interaction so he just stays in his room the whole day and goes out when the sun has already set. he wears the tightest leather pants and shirt ever and puts on a leather jacket too. he tops everything off with smoky eye makeup and damn, it makes him look a hundred times hotter than he usually is. his jet black hair flies a little as he rides his motorcycle through the outskirts of town. he stops at one of the local bars with giant pink neon signs outside. _moonlight,_ it said so. it’s sungjong’s favorite bar.

 

he enters the bar and flops down on his spot, the one in the counter. the bartender sees him and nods at him. he’s been here so many times that he’s become a regular and gets discounts more than often. a minute later, the bartender pushes something in front of him, the strongest liquor they have there. it’s different every time and sungjong likes the versatility. sometimes it’s a mixture of gin and whiskey, sometimes its something foreign. he downs it in one go and asks for more.

 

when he’s had at least two bottles, he scampers off to the dance floor and randomly approaches men who he sees as _easy preys._ he finds one and dances with him, grinding his hips along with the other. he whispers something quick and easy, and with that he has the random man tied in his finger.

 

when the deed has been done and sungjong has let his frustrations out on the poor man, myungsoo stops him.

 

sungyeol has mixed feelings about myungsoo. he’s the one who lives on the seventh room. sungyeol insists that myungsoo’s presence there makes the universe lose its balance. sungyeol is _insane_ about his twelve theory. myungsoo is even more insane.

 

if sungjong is what he claims to be, a mean and rude brat, then myungsoo definitely beats him. myungsoo is batshit crazy. myungsoo is like a bomb who explodes every day and resets just to explode the next day again. not enough words can explain him. he probably can’t even explain himself.

 

he stands there in front of the man who sungjong just randomly selected for the night. his hair almost covers his eyes and so he blows on it, like a little kid. except that myungsoo is no little kid.  he kicks the man for no reason and repeatedly stomps his foot on the other’s face. the other man whimpers, pleas and cries for help for mercy for pity—but myungsoo can’t spare him because he doesn’t have any of that shit. myungsoo eats dead bodies for dinner.

 

myungsoo is the kind of person your parents would’ve warned you about when you were young. it was stupid to believe that monsters hide under beds and cabinets because they definitely do not. this monster freely roams the world, clad in his black hoodie and black pants and black everything that mirrors his soul—an abyss of black and darkness. what is worse is that he doesn’t look like a monster. he looks like a god. his eyes are black and captivating, his nose and lips are in proportion to his face its almost scary because he looks too good to be true. an occasional dimple can be seen when his lips go at a certain angle and its frustrating because he suddenly looks more _godlike._ he’s so perfect visual wise that it seems like a sin if you look at him.

 

he goes home at eleven, because he _knows_ it throws sungyeol’s twelve theory. myungsoo doesn’t open the lights when he enters the place, he lets the darkness welcome him with open arms. he navigates his way to the mahogany doors. balanced and adjacent to each other, except for one.

 

the seventh room that stands in the middle. his own mahogany door.

 

he walks past the rooms, touching the numbers with his own fingers. he makes three rounds and abruptly stops at sungyeol’s door.

 

myungsoo knocks on sungyeol’s door.

 

 _lee sungyeol._ he lets the name roll on his tongue. _come out now, lee sungyeol. L is not going to hurt you._

myungsoo prefers to be called _L,_ but no one calls him that because they all know why he wants to be L. its like calling an evil spirit by its name even though everyone has restricted to not use it. he finds it rude but lets it pass and just uses it for himself. he knows he has the most power out of all of them. he’s sharp and persuasive in a cruel way. it puts sungyeol at a disadvantage.

 

sungyeol opens the door, of course—and lets myungsoo in.

 

myungsoo sits down by the bed, beside sungyeol. the taller male’s hands fidget at myungsoo’s presence.

 

 _give up, sungyeol._ myungsoo whispers in his ear. sungyeol closes his ears but myungsoo holds them down.

 

 _aren’t you hurting enough? this is all their fault. they hurt you and leave nothing for you to mend, and so you try to fix yourself and fail miserably and so, alas—this is the result. you are just, almost sungyeol._ the thin male creeps up to his bed and hugs his long legs, tries not to listen and looks away, judging his life choices very quickly and wondering why the hell did he even let myungsoo inside.

 

oh, because it’s myungsoo.

 

sungyeol is weak for myungsoo.

 

myungsoo, dead and cold and nothing but memories and unsaid words and unsung lullabies, whom he loved so much that he tried to make him a part of himself; tried to make them as one and failed _so much_ that he wasn’t able to retain the real kim myungsoo—and is now sitting beside an imitation, a reject. a mirror of sungyeol’s deepest and darkest secrets and fears and everything sungyeol did not wish to see.

 

but its there, teasing and making fun of him, perfect kim myungsoo.

 

someone who destroys the balance of the universe by being the seventh persona inside sungyeol’s mind—along with the other personas that he molded from everything in his conscious and subconscious mind; authoritative sunggyu, kind dongwoo, lovable woohyun, awkward howon, rude sungjong and of course, wicked myungsoo.

 

 _but, giving up means leaving you._ sungyeol whispers, barely audible. myungsoo’s eyes glint in the darkness.

 

 _but staying here means you’ll hurt more._ the shorter male assures, puts a protective hand on the other’s shoulders. he’s almost there—sly kim myungsoo.

 

_it’s okay to get hurt as long as you’re here, myung._

_but i’ll just keep on hurting you._

_and i’ll keep on enduring, for you._

_you can’t. i’m sorry._

 

myungsoo planted butterfly kisses in sungyeol. it’s no different than a devil kissing a soul out of a mere human.

 

sungyeol melts.

 

 

 

 

the next morning, sunggyu doesn’t wake up. so does dongwoo, woohyun, hoya, and sungjong. especially sungyeol.

 

myungsoo opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. it’s already morning and the bright sun invades the room too much for myungsoo’s liking. he groggily wakes up and sees the long _long_ legs in front of him. he smiles, gets up and faces the mirror. he sees sungyeol’s brown hair streaming down on his forehead and sungyeol’s plump lips smiling back at him.

 

lee sungyeol’s name begins and ends with the twelfth letter of the alphabet, the letter l. myungsoo is the last letter in sungyeol’s name.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are deeply appreciated! i also entertain questions if there's something that wasn't conveyed clearly


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